


It Was Just Like a Movie

by travels_in_time



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travels_in_time/pseuds/travels_in_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony got a better offer and is leaving NCIS.  As soon as the team closes this case. In the meantime, he has a few things he needs to say to each of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Just Like a Movie

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was never really in the NCIS fandom and quit watching altogether several years ago. However, the news that Michael Weatherly was leaving called up some COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED Tony-feels, and I needed to exorcise them in some way. My characterization is probably years out of date, and my knowledge of Bishop is nil. I hope you can overlook those flaws and enjoy this anyway.

The latest offer came in during the serial killer case. Of course it did, because his timing sucked. In a way, though, that actually made it easier. The victim count was creeping up. Fornell was on life support. Gibbs was balancing a razor's edge between yelling at everyone in sight and staring at reports in tight white-knuckled silence, and Tony was tired. Tired of long days and late nights and the bone-deep exhaustion that another call brought; tired of crime scenes and blood splatters and dead eyes; tired of looking family members in the eye and telling them sorry, we weren't good enough, we didn't save your loved one. 

It was a good offer. He wasn't likely to get a better one. He took it, with a stipulation; he'd see the case through first. He couldn't leave the team in the middle of a mess like this. 

And it was a mess. He said as much to Bishop, still at her desk in the middle of the night. It looked like she'd been searching through boxes of old files when she'd finally succumbed to sleep. She jerked upright when he spoke, blinking wildly around until she focused on him. "Tony! I thought you--"

"Still here, Sleeping Beauty." He grinned at her. "I've got some stuff to finish up, too." He perched on the edge of her desk and nodded at the files. "Still looking to see who else he might go after?"

"Um…yeah." She still sounded dazed. She rubbed at her eyes. "Yeah, he's branched out a bit, but it looks like he's still focused on NCIS as his end game. Gibbs wants me to see if there's anyone else we should be protecting."

"You did that already." Tony had been there when Bishop had given Gibbs a list of potential targets. It had been way too long. 

"Yeah." Bishop's eyes dropped to her desk. Fresh crime scene photos from the warehouse were scattered among the old files; she swept them up into a neat stack, placed them into an empty folder. "Now he wants me to check again."

"Okay," Tony agreed. "You can finish up first thing in the morning."

She shook her head. "Gibbs wants--"

"You just fell asleep on photos of a dead body," Tony pointed out. "Whatever he wants you to see, you won't see it passed out." He leaned over her desk, lowered his voice, even though there was no one else in the bullpen. "You know I'm leaving NCIS? I got a better offer."

"Uh…yeah. About that, Tony--"

"But I made a deal. I won't go until we catch this guy. So." He leaned back. "You go home, sleep in an actual bed with no dead people, and then come back and we'll solve this case. And then--" he spread his hands. "I can go."

She was watching him carefully. "I'm sorry you're leaving," she said hesitantly. "I never--I don't feel that I ever really got to know you well enough. There's a lot I still need to learn."

Bishop was a good kid. It wasn't her fault that she wasn't Kate, or Ziva. He'd worked well with her, and he trusted her. It had been enough for him, and he'd never realized that she felt the lack of any deeper connection. 

He put on his best "trust me" smile. "You don't need me. You're a good agent already. And McGee will help you out with anything you still need." His smile widened. "He's a way better teacher than me, just ask him."

"He says you were kind of a jerk when he started here."

Tony nodded. "And he was kind of a wimp. He was scared of everything that moved. Turned out that the only thing that stopped him being scared was being irritated. So I irritated him. A lot." He smiled modestly. "I have a gift."

She laughed. "I have noticed that."

"He's not scared of anything now. And you…well, you've got your head on straight. All you need is a good example and a little patience. Both of which are McProfessional's strong points, not mine. See? Things have a way of working out." 

Bishop had puppy-dog eyes; he'd noticed that before. They were sad now. "I still wish--"

"Hey," Tony said firmly. "The only thing I'd really want to teach you, you already know. Your team is your family. You look out for them. Stay on their six. That's what's important."

"I know, Tony. I will." 

"Good. Now go home. You've got a lot to get through in the morning." 

*******************

Palmer was alone down in Autopsy. He was scrubbing, disinfecting, restocking. "Well, it has been really busy around here lately, I guess," Tony said aloud.

"Tell me about it. Bodies stacked up in here like firewood." Palmer turned to look at him. He looked terrible. Like a zombie. 

"Have you seen 'The Walking Dead'?" Tony asked him. 

Palmer stared at him. "Yes?" It sounded like a question. Tony didn't have an answer. 

"You should get some sleep," he said instead. 

"Plenty of time to sleep when you're dead," Palmer said, and winced. "Sorry. Agent Gibbs says that."

Tony waved a hand at the wall of drawers, wondering vaguely how many of them held occupants. "I don't think anybody down here is getting their feelings hurt, Black Lung."

Palmer smiled at the old nickname. "Ducky keeps telling me I need to work on being more respectful of the dead," he explained. "And I try! Just…"

"Foot-in-mouth disease," Tony supplied. "Yeah, I know. Look, Jimmy, I just came down to tell you--" he hesitated, searching for words. 

Palmer smiled at him, and then he didn't look quite so much like a zombie anymore. "Yeah, I heard. Are you…are you okay?"

Tony appreciated the concern, but he didn't really know what to do with it. "I think it's the right move. I mean, I'm not going anywhere yet. But once the case is done…time to move on." 

"I'm supposed to be assisting Ducky in the morning," Palmer noted. "Maybe we'll get some answers then. Let me know if there's anything you need, all right?"

Tony clapped him on the shoulder, a little more enthusiastically than he'd meant to; Palmer rocked back slightly. "Take care of them, okay? Keep 'em patched up. They're not so good at looking after themselves."

"You should talk," Palmer muttered, and then looked shamefaced. "Sorry. Foot-in-mouth."

Tony pointed at the door. "Out. Go home. Get some rest. I don't think the dead care so much about whether you're tactful, just about whether you do your best to find out how they got dead in the first place." 

Palmer nodded. The glare from his glasses made his eyes hard to read. "I'll remember that." He walked around the room, setting things away, turning off lights. "See you tomorrow, Tony."

 

****************************

McGee was in MTAC. There were a couple of technicians along the wall, one asleep, one nearly so, but otherwise it was dark and deserted. McGee was using one of the smaller screens to go over the footage of the warehouse. 

"All the equipment we have in the bullpen, and you come all the way up here to watch YouTube videos?"

McGee jumped. "Tony! Jeez--" He rubbed a hand over his eyes and lowered his voice, darting a glance at the dozing techs. "What are you still doing here?"

"Sneaking up on you, McOvertime." He cast a stern glance at the younger man. "You look terrible. When's the last time you got any sleep?"

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," McGee answered automatically. 

Tony frowned at him. "Gibbs has a lot to answer for."

"Gibbs didn't make me stay." McGee sounded defensive. Tony didn't bother to explain that he'd been referring to the quote. "I'm trying to get a better look at our perp."

"Why up here?"

"There's nobody in the bullpen," McGee said softly. "I just…I didn't feel like being on my own."

Bishop must have gone home. That was good. At least somebody was taking his advice. "You're not on your own, Probie."

McGee's mouth twitched for a moment before he let the smile out. "It's been a while since you called me that."

"Guess leaving's got me all nostalgic." 

"Long as you don't bring back the superglue before you go." They grinned at each other, and then McGee's grin faltered. "Hey." He took a deep breath. "I meant what I said during that identity theft case. You took care of me, taught me a lot, even when I didn't realize it, and…I'm really gonna miss you."

"You're not a probie anymore," Tony said quietly. "You're a good investigator, and you'll make a great Senior Field Agent. Just…watch their backs, okay? Bishop, and Gibbs. Take care of them."

"I will, Tony."

"Not going anywhere until this case is cleared up, though." Tony stepped over to take a closer look at the screen.

McGee put a hand out to stop him. "Tony, don't. Some of that…it's not pretty."

"I know, McSqueamish, I was there. Want me to go over it with you? Get a different perspective?"

McGee cast a look around. One of the techs was blinking at them, frowning a little; the other was still asleep. "No, thanks, I think I've nearly got it memorized by now. Actually, I guess I'm more tired than I realized. Everything's starting to blur. Maybe I'll borrow Abby's futon and get a little shut-eye."

"Abby's probably using it." Tony nodded at the screen. "There was a lot of evidence from that scene. She's been running tests nonstop."

"I can sleep at my desk."

Tony thought about offering him a table in Autopsy--Gibbs slept there often enough--but that would mean Palmer would have to disinfect again. "Go home, Tim. Hit the rack, come back fresh in the morning."

"Yeah. Okay." McGee hesitated, then said firmly, "We're gonna get this guy, Tony."

Tony grinned at him. "I don't have any doubts."

**********************************

In the morning, he was back in Autopsy. Ducky had his latest guest laid out and opened up already. "Getting an early start," Tony greeted him. 

Ducky didn't look up, concentrating on the task in front of him. "Ah, Anthony. I'd wondered if I might see you this morning."

"Well, yeah." Tony kept his eyes on Ducky's face. All these years, and he still didn't like watching autopsies. It seemed a terrible indignity to have spectators, like a final invasion of the little privacy that was left to a corpse. "Wanted to see what you've got." 

"Not much yet." Ducky sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not moving very fast this morning. I'm getting old, Anthony. This case…well, retirement is starting to look better and better."

Tony settled himself against one of the other tables, crossing his arms. "You can't go anywhere, Ducky. You've still got way too many stories to tell."

Ducky chuckled. It sounded a little rusty, but it was an improvement. "Far too many of them from the last fifteen years." 

Tony pointed at him. "Hey. Not all those were my fault." He thought back. "Okay, some of those were not my fault. A few." He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. "Is it always this cold in here?" 

"Most of my guests don't complain." Ducky did look at him now. "Oh, I see. You've gotten used to your suits. I haven't seen you wear that type of clothing for years."

Tony looked down at the striped button-down he was wearing, shirt-tail out, sleeves rolled up. "Casual Friday?" he tried.  "I don't know, I didn't feel very formal today."  

"It's quite all right. Brings back old memories, in fact.  We were all younger then. Even you," he added to the body on his table. "Oh, my, that was some time ago. Before Caitlin moved on to that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns."

Tony pointed at him.  " _Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country_ , 1991.  Don't tell McGeek I knew that, I'd never live it down."

"Actually, Anthony, that quotation is from a much older source than that no doubt rousing film."

"I didn't think it was that great, honestly.  And they changed the quote.  Chancellor Gorkon claimed it meant the future.  Shakespeare used it to refer to death."  Tony rolled his eyes at the look Ducky gave him.  "Don't tell _anyone_ I knew that."

"I've never understood why you always insisted on hiding your light under a bushel," Ducky murmured. 

Tony shrugged.  "So what's the story here?"

"I can give you a preliminary report. There were two shots to the chest. Those were stopped by the body armor. I did pull out one bullet which hit below the vest and lodged in the left hip. I sent it to Abby via Mr. Palmer." Ducky looked tired; Tony supposed that none of them had been sleeping well, particularly not after the debacle at the warehouse. "There is one wound to the neck as well, but it's superficial. The wound to the hip area was serious, but the cause of death was the shot to the head. Death would have been almost instantaneous."

"That's good," Tony said somberly. "Some of them haven't been so lucky."

"If you can call it lucky to be targeted by a serial killer," Ducky said sharply.

"Luck is relative. If you've gotta go, go out with a bang, make it worth something, and go fast." He indicated the table, still managing not to look directly at the body. "This guy wasn't even targeted. He just got in the way." 

"Odd," Ducky mused. "That is not the story that I was told." 

Ducky hadn't been there, Tony remembered. The killer was still targeting agents who'd caught him originally, but he'd gotten sloppy, started widening his scope; had started taking down anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a mistake, it was going to make him easier to find, but at the moment it meant more bodies. Ducky had been home, trying to get some sleep after the latest round of victims, when they got the lead on the warehouse. 

It didn't look like that was going to stop him from recounting the event, though. "This was a joint operation between several agents from both the FBI and NCIS.  It wasn't just Jethro's team."

"I know, Ducky, I was there," Tony reminded him. People kept forgetting. It was like he was already out the door. 

"My dear boy, this will most likely be the last time you'll have to listen to one of my stories."  Ducky sounded almost plaintive, looking up at Tony.  "Kindly let me tell it in my own way."

"Sorry."  Tony made a zipping gesture across his lips. 

"We had several agents on the ground, as did the FBI, of course.  It should have gone smoothly.  However, there was a basement entrance that wasn't on the plans.  Our perpetrator was able to sneak up the back stairs undetected and flank several members of the combined task force.  It could have gone very badly for them.  However, 'this guy', as you refer to him, spotted him just in time.  He warned the others, broke cover, and fired at the assailant, managing to wound him but drawing, as you see, quite devastating return fire in the process."

Tony frowned at him.  "It sounds kinda reckless when you put it like that."

"It was undoubtedly so.  Jethro was quite emphatic about that.  As well as several other things." 

Tony winced.  "Yeah, I heard some of that.  I almost felt sorry for the guys that put together the intel.  It was kinda nice to not be on the receiving end for once. "

That earned him a small but sympathetic smile.  "In the confusion, the killer managed to escape.  However, his wounds slowed him enough that one of the FBI agents was able to get a partial plate and a description of his getaway vehicle.  There's a BOLO out now."

"He'll have ditched the car early on," Tony pointed out.  "But when they find it, there'll be evidence...maybe witnesses..." 

"Quite so."  Ducky sighed.  "There were injuries, but no other fatalities. My current guest effectively gave his own life to save many of his fellow agents, and may have provided us with a major break in the case. Would you consider that to be worth something?"

Tony considered.  "Well, it is how all the best stories end. In fact, in the second Star Trek movie--"  He grinned at Ducky's slight huff of annoyance.  "I think I would, Ducky. Thanks for putting it into perspective."  He pushed off the autopsy table and straightened.  "I'm going to miss your stories," he said quietly.  "There are a lot I haven't heard yet."

"There's never enough time, my dear boy."  Ducky was back at work, or perhaps he'd never stopped; Tony really, really wasn't watching.  "If I've learned one thing from this job, it's that."

Tony swallowed.  "There's another reason you can't go anywhere."  It took him a moment to find the next words.  "Gibbs.  You're the only one he listens to."

Ducky snorted.  "I'm afraid you vastly overestimate my influence."

"Okay, possibly 'listens to' is a slight exaggeration," Tony conceded.  "But you know him better than anyone else.  Keep an eye on him, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Ducky promised.  "And wherever your future leads you, Anthony...may your travels be safe."

Tony turned away quickly, blinking hard.  "Thanks, Ducky."  

******************************

Tony sat at the top of the stairs and just listened.  It sounded as if Gibbs were on a rampage.  Tony started a mental list of the sounds he could identify. Breaking glass...something heavy and metal hitting the basement wall...the sound of flesh hitting something hard, and the crack of wood snapping.   Tony winced at that, wondering which his boss was going to regret more in the morning. Eventually the noise stopped, and after a few minutes of nothing but Gibbs' harsh breathing, he could hear liquid being poured.  Evidently the bourbon bottle had survived the destruction. 

"I know you're there, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.  "You might as well show yourself."

Tony pulled himself to his feet and came further down the stairs cautiously.  "You done throwing things, Boss?  Because I can wait."

"No promises."  Gibbs sounded furious, but as Tony came into view, he blinked incredulously. "What the hell are you wearing, DiNozzo?"

Tony gave his best cocky grin, running his hands over the leather jacket and jeans. "I'll have you know this outfit got me a lot of women back in the day."

"Were they working women? You look like a reject from a motorcycle gang." Gibbs looked up at him, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wore that when you came to NCIS from Baltimore."

"You remember that?" Tony said in surprise.

The grin dropped off of Gibbs' face. "I remember a lot of things."

Unsure of Gibbs' volatile mood, Tony stood where he was until Gibbs jerked his head impatiently; then he came down the rest of the way and seated himself at the bottom of the stairs. "That was a good day, Boss. I guess I'm just reminiscing."

"Yeah." Gibbs picked up the glass from his workbench, took a long drink. His knuckles were scraped raw, Tony noticed. 

"Hey, take it easy. I don't want you too hungover for my going-away party." He paused. "My last day's tomorrow, you know that, right?"

"I know, Tony." Gibbs' voice was oddly gentle. He took a deep breath. "We got the bastard." 

Tony grinned. "I know. The team put in some good work there." He hesitated, before asking tentatively, "Just now…were you mad because of the warehouse?"

Gibbs was staring at his glass, his shoulders stiff. "You could say that."

"It was a mess," Tony agreed ruefully. "I should have checked the intel myself. Rule #3--don't believe what you're told. Double-check."

"Wasn't mad at you, Tony." But Gibbs still wasn't looking at him. He took another drink. "When you came to NCIS," he said abruptly. "You said that was a good day."

"Well, yeah." Tony said it as if it should be self-evident. "The best." 

Gibbs topped off his glass, but held on to it instead of taking a drink. "Any regrets?"

Tony had to laugh. "Oh, yeah. A lot. Not about coming here, though. That was the best decision I ever made." He braced himself, made himself ask. "You?"

It was a moment before Gibbs spoke; he seemed to be having a harder time than usual getting the words out. "First time I met your dad, I told him you were the best young agent I'd ever worked with."

"Really?" Tony said in surprise. "He never mentioned that to me."

"Figures," Gibbs grunted. "Should have told you myself."

"Um, no, because I would have been convinced you'd been replaced by a pod person." Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Like in _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_? The 1978 remake with Donald Sutherland, not the 1956 black-and-white version. Not that I have anything against black-and-whites, you know I love them, but honestly, you can't top Donald Sutherland." Gibbs was still looking mystified, but the heat that had started in Tony's ears at Gibbs' words had receded, and he was able to focus. 

Gibbs was easy to irritate, but not so easy to distract once he'd actually decided to have a conversation. "Probably a whole lot of things I should have told you," he said quietly.

"You didn't have to, Boss. You were always more of a doer than a talker."

"You remember the first time you came down here? You saw the boat, offered me your power sander."

Tony smiled at the memory. "Yeah. You said you used hand tools."

"I said I used my hands," Gibbs corrected. 

Years of memories unrolled in Tony's head, like reels from a film. Gibbs sparring with him, to teach him or build up his endurance or, too many times, just to let Tony hit something after a rough case. Gibbs smacking the back of his head, over and over, to get his attention, keep him focused. Gibbs, very occasionally, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him, patting him to let him know he'd done a good job. He knew his thoughts were showing on his face; didn't mind, just this once. "What were you building, Boss?"

"It was already there. I was just sanding off some of the rough edges."

"You put a lot of work into me." Tony locked his hands around his knees, uneasy with the turn the conversation had taken. "I'm sorry I have to go."

Gibbs looked over at him sharply. "Nothing that happened in that warehouse was your fault, Tony. You got that?"

And then he understood the earlier rage, finally. "Wasn't yours either."

Gibbs' fists clenched, and so did Tony's chest. "Boss," he said softly. "We did everything we could. All of us." He paused, searching for words. "I really…I need you to hold on to that."

"That why you're here?" Gibbs drained half his glass, holding it too tightly; Tony was afraid it would shatter, half afraid Gibbs might shatter along with it. "To tell me everything's fine?"

Tony looked around the basement, taking in the familiarity, the lingering smell of sawdust. "I've got one night left," he said simply. "Where else was I gonna go?"

Gradually, the tension in Gibbs' muscles eased; his death grip on the glass loosened. Tony watched as Gibbs topped up his glass again, able to relax somewhat himself as Gibbs, calmer now, managed to find another unbroken glass, poured a measure in it as well. He brought both glasses over to the staircase, and Tony took one and obligingly shifted over so that Gibbs could sit down beside him. 

"You staying all night?" Gibbs' tone was rough. 

Tony sipped at his bourbon carefully. "I don't have to."

Gibbs shifted a bit, bumping into Tony's shoulder as he drank. "I won't be sleeping anyway."

"Okay, but if I stay, you've seriously got to slow down." Tony nodded at the drink in Gibbs' hand. "You get too drunk, I'm afraid you'll get chatty and friendly and all pod-person-y and heart-to-heart-y, and you know I can't handle it when you're nice, Boss, it weirds me out."

The slap was stinging and completely expected, and Tony laughed out loud as he rubbed the back of his head. "Thank you, Boss."

************************

In the morning, he headed for the lab. Music was blasting as expected, but it wasn't her usual metal sounds. Tony smiled as he identified the style. "Jazz, Abby?"

"Tony!" Abby spun around, grabbed him, and enveloped him in a crushing hug. "I knew you wouldn't leave without saying goodbye!" 

He made the usual grunts and protesting noises that she'd expect, but squeezed her back just as tightly. It had taken him a while to get used to Abby's hugs, but he secretly enjoyed them now. 

He finally managed to get her untangled from him and held her out at arm's length. "Wow, you look great."

She smirked at him. "I knew you'd love this outfit." She was wearing a tight black sleeveless dress, with a short black lace top over it. The lace was a repeating skull pattern. 

"Very nice. Very Abby." Tony nodded in approval.

"You look good too. I've always loved that green shirt on you." Abby leaned against him again, snuggled her head into his shoulder, sniffling. "It matches your eyes."

"Hey, hey, there's no crying in Forensics," Tony said sternly. "Come on, Abs, you're playing dance music. You can't cry to dance music."

"It's New Orleans jazz. Because you liked it when I played it for Kate."

"I thought that was only for the way home."

"Well, yeah. But you won't be here then." Abby reluctantly let him go and searched his eyes, biting her lip anxiously. "You know, don't you, Tony? It's time."

He sighed. "I know. They caught the serial killer."

"Gibbs shot him. Twice." Tears caught in Abby's eyelashes, sparkled in the bright lights of the lab, but she was smiling. "Did he tell you? Shattered both his kneecaps. He'll stand trial, but he'll never walk again."

He laughed softly. "Can't say I'm sorry." He put an arm around her, drawing her close. "Take care of Gibbs, will you? You know how he gets."

"I will, Tony, I promise."

"Give him lots of hugs. He loves those." He looked around the lab, squinting. "Is it always this bright in here?"

She held on to him even tighter. "What movie are you thinking of right now?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping for the one with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore, but so far no one's done a sexy pottery scene with me, so I guess that's out. And then I was thinking _The Sixth Sense_ , but it hasn't been very creepy or scary, so that's not it, and Abs, I really do think you should look at getting the lighting adjusted." He paused. "Oh, no. No, this is way too cliché, who's in charge here? I want a better metaphor! This is a sad, sad lack of originality."

"It's fine, Tony. Tell me about the movie." 

He relented. "Now I'm thinking…maybe _It's a Wonderful Life._ That's always been my favorite. The plot isn't really relevant here, but what it's actually about is a guy who's just doing the best he can for his friends and family. I like that theme."

She gave him one final squeeze, blinking back tears again. "It's a good theme."

"The directing for mine kind of stinks, but Abs?" He kissed her forehead. "I couldn't have asked for a better cast."

They both looked up at a movement outside the lab. Gibbs stood there, dressed in a dark suit. He signed something.

"Time to go," Abby interpreted for Tony. "Coming, Gibbs," she called back. She turned back to him. "I love you, Tony," she said softly. Then she was hurrying out, launching herself at Gibbs, who knew what was coming and stood braced in resignation for it.

Tony looked after them for a moment, smiling. "No man is a failure who has friends," he quoted, and turned away, walking into the light.


End file.
